Knight of Astora
by leifjohnson14
Summary: Short story about a nameless knight that had traveled to the Undead Asylum, accompanying Oscar, and partaking in the search for the cure to the Undead sickness that plagued him, his sister, and all those he traveled with. This takes place before the start of the game Dark Souls, and they face the Asylum Demon.


It didn't matter who he was. It didn't matter what he'd done, what he'd seen, the things he'd said or been. How many he had killed, all the times that he had screamed, bled, cried, shook... Of all of the times that he had to watch everyone around him perish, it didn't matter.

All that mattered was one thing, and as he got down on his knee, armor rattling as he moved, he looked down at that one thing. At one girl, laid here, amidst a dark battlefield among the corpses of the dead.

She smiled up at him from where she lay, though her eyes were empty and void of life. He knew that she was gone from this world, gone from him, but he didn't care. He just wanted to look down at her for a while longer.

She lay, her limp, cold hand clutching onto his, and a tear that made it halfway down her cheek sparkled in the weak light from above.

He stayed where he was, knelt down, and holding her. He didn't want to let go. Not now, and not ever.

She had often said that they would be together forever. That they would never, truly part. No matter how many times he said that to himself in the back of his head, he knew it wasn't true. She was gone now, and they were separated.

He looked down through the vertical slits of his helmet, a blank expression across his features. Not a smile, a grimace or agony. Nothing.

He raised a gloved hand and lifted the visor so that nothing would stand in the way of him looking at her.

As he knelt, the clouds blocked out the sun.

He looked around the chamber he was within, to all the others who lay, motionless and forever put to rest. He looked at them as they store up into the sky in their death gazes, expressions of pain, and unease; of hatred and spite written across dead expressions.

But upon few of them, he saw peace. They looked on with expressions that said they saw whatever they had lived to see through, through, and they had died fulfilled. They had done their piece, and now, it was time for him to do his.

"Alright..." He muttered to himself.

He looked back down at the girl one last time, a smile making its way over his lips. He would never see her again, never hear her voice or hold her close, but instead he would feel a loss within his chest. He knew not if he cared to go on living in a world unlit by her presence, unlit by meaning, but at the moment he wasn't overly concerned with such things. This moment wasn't for him. It was for all those who had died, same as he was going to. He looked up, to the demon that towered before him.

It didn't matter who he was.

The figure was the height of five men, and horribly bloated. It's skin sagged off of it's bones, it overflowing and rotted. It's stomach bulged out, and the beast's thighs were large and rounded. It was disgusting to look at. It held in hands overgrown with fat and bile a great hammer, and the man saw horns upon the demon's head, growing out in different directions and angles. He didn't know what this monster was, what it wanted, or why it was here. He didn't know where it had come from, or why it had killed so many. He only knew one thing.

He was going to fight it. Only the gods would decide if he won.

He slowly started to stand, the pieces of armor that he wore clinking together as he did so. He had donned a suit of chain mail, over which was a blue tunic.

Blue for the sky, blue for his kingdom.

Gold rimmed it, and spiraled into designs that made up the crests of the kings who ruled over his land.

One hand was clothed in a leather glove that reached up to his elbow, and the entirety of the other arm was armored in steel. In his gloved hand, he gripped a long sword, the blade elegant and smooth, the hilt bronze and glittering. In the gauntlet, he bore a kite shield, upon which leaves were decorated.

These were his weapons. This was his armor. It's all that he ever truly was, and all that he ever needed to be.

He pushed himself up, and stood, looking skywards towards the beast that had cut down so many. While doing so, using his arm that held close his shield, he lowered the visor of his helm once more, hiding his features from view.

While standing, the clouds passed, and the sun shown down once more. He looked up to it. Weak rays of light shimmered through large chunks missing from the ceiling. He was in a large chamber, pillars surrounding him on all sides, and rubble covering the floor.

He was cursed, not that that was an important detail at this point. Him, the men who he had followed here, and the girl dead on the stone floor by his steel boots. Cursed, and rejected by the rest of the world. So, they had come to this place, far north, deep within a mountainous region.

He who had led the knights, most of whom were now dead, had been looking to fulfill a prophecy, and save the rest of the world from becoming cursed like them. It hardly mattered anymore, however. Those who were not killed had fled, and they would end up Hollow eventually. The knight, the only one who had remained, stayed ever vigilant, and took in the wonders of the sky above.

He liked the sun. He liked the light. It was enough for him to die for.

He looked from the sun to the over sized teeth of the demon that stood before him. He gripped his sword tighter.

He didn't say anything, no final words to mark out his last moments. Nothing to be remembered by, not that anyone would remember him.

It didn't matter who he was.

He ran forwards.


End file.
